


Inevitable

by Coffeecoffeecoffee23



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:47:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffeecoffeecoffee23/pseuds/Coffeecoffeecoffee23
Summary: Idk what this is? First attempt.
Kudos: 15





	1. Dig A Hole To China

Christen was on the floor, mere feet from the TV. “Hey Mo,” her dad teased. “We’d all like to see!” 

When had she gotten this close to the screen? She’d started the final on her couch, eyes glued to the TV as the USWNT faced Brazil for the Olympic gold medal match in Beijing.

She was home in LA for the summer. She’d finished up her sophomore year at Stanford. Many would call it a successful year—- good grades, lots of friends, starting every game for her soccer team. Christen might not use that word, knowing there was always room for improvement— a higher final GPA, deeper connections with friends, more goals to end the season (she was a forward after all). But these last weeks at home had been good for her, spending time with “the chipmunks” sisters, cooking with her mom, and laughing with her dad. They had all been enjoying watching the Olympics together, her parents frequently hinting that Christen wouldn’t be watching forever. Of course it’s easy to believe your parents when they take the utmost pride in everything you do—- ask Cody or Stacy and Christen had hung each star and the whole moon herself! 

Christen watched the heated first half of the match (relatively) calmly from her cushion. By any account, this was a physical game. Not surprising seeing as the US was playing Brazil, a top rival. The usually level-headed Mitts had gotten a yellow card for tripping already, and players were on the ground left and right. Christen jumped up at the occasional offensive chance as the US would start a promising attack, but always found herself again seated when it fizzled out. 

She did the typical “soccer fan halftime race” to the bathroom as the 45th minute ended scoreless. Again, she returned to her cushion to watch on in awe and determination. Again there were chances, but nothing settled in that second half either. As the whistle blew at 90+ minutes, she could feel her nerves on edge. The US had won every gold medal since the first Olympic Women’s Soccer match in 1996. What were they doing? Could somebody put the dang ball in the net already? 

As the first period of overtime began, she didn’t realize that she was now on the edge of her seat, hands clasped in front of her, elbows on her thighs as she leaned as far as she could toward the TV. Then in the 6th minute of extra time, the room erupted. Carli Lloyd, a relatively unfamiliar name, hit a shot from just beyond the 18 that skidded just under the Brazilian keeper’s hands and into the back of the yet. Christen’s arms raised in triumph, celebrating along with the rest of the Press Pack. As Brazil kicked back off, it again went unnoticed to Christen how this time she had squatted on the carpet, a foot from the couch and leaning forward toward the screen.

Oh man, if the game was heated before, it’s an absolute inferno now! Christen’s eyes follow Marta as she tries everything to find an equalizer. She’s always admired Marta’s confidence, her unshakable desire to win and the way she plays with that South American flare. Her relief, however, is much stronger then her admiration as Marta sails a dangerous ball over the crossbar. As the final whistle echoes from the TV speaker and the score line reads 1-0, Christen jumps up again and her whole family is hugging and smiling, celebrating in mirror to Pia and the rest of the coaches and all of the players on screen. 

“Gosh, I love winning!” Christen beams. Her dad chuckles, “Oh, we know, Mo!”

And that’s how she finds herself crouched on the floor, mere feet from the TV, eyes glued to the screen. She’s staring at the players’ huge grins which match her own. She’s admiring the USA crest on their red and white windbreakers. Without realizing, she’s imagining what that feeling would be as the olive wreath rests on your head and the weight of the gold medal settles on your neck. She picks out her favorite players, Carli the game’s savior and Shannon Boxx her training friend. As she looks closely, she’s reminded again how young some of these players look. How young some of them are. There’s Tobin Heath, the soccer prodigy who’s just a year older than her—- still in college, and already an Olympian. Sure, she’s her rival when Stanford plays the Tar Heels, but she’s been cheering hard for the whole USWNT, even the Tar Heel, over the weeks of these Olympic Games. 

She stares at Tobin’s toothy grin, watches her examine the gold medal around her neck, tracks her playful exchange with Amy Rodriguez and Lauren Cheney standing to her left on the podium. She feels a pang of... something... as she continues watching Tobin throughout the medal ceremony. Admiration? Obviously the girl has put in the work to be able to nutmeg people and have a touch like that on the field. Envy? That might be closer to the truth. Christen has yet to be called into a US camp, despite her impressive goal count on her youth club team and at Stanford. 

She wrestles the feeling back down, choosing instead to return to the conversation and celebration with her family. One day they all muse... in 4 years they all plan.... that will be me Christen just keeps smiling.


	2. Cardinals are red, Tar Heels are blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how regular the updates will be, but planning to keep going.

The starting whistle blew and Tobin felt her game face settle in. Was this an Olympic Gold Medal match? No.

But it was still important. 

She’d chosen North Carolina to win championships. Of course she loved the game. As a kid the ball felt like an extension of her leg. As she grew older, she never felt more natural or comfortable than she did with the ball under her boot—- pushed to the side—- popping up and dropping to the other boot. Football was her gift. Her touch was her magic. God put her on this Earth to be an artist, and the game was her medium. 

But this match was still important. She wanted to win championships. She’d chosen North Carolina, a program built on excellence. That Carolina blue meant she played for Mia and Anson and HAO and all the Tar Heels before her. It meant she played for all the Tar Heels to come too. They’d won when she was a freshman. They’d won when she was a sophomore. The taste of defeat as a junior still didn’t sit well in her mind.

Her senior year of high school, she did not play for her school’s team. She took the season off... well, she took the season for herself. She trained with boys. Her passes became sharper, her touch crisper, her footwork braver. She was an artist with a whole new palette. She loved this game. 

She did not regret skipping her senior year of soccer. She wasn’t missing out. Her decision was the right one, she truly believed it was part of His plan for her. 

But there’s something about an unfinished high school career. It’s a nutmeg where you step and fake the defender, you catch them leaning, you hit the ball with the outside of your foot and watch it sail between their feet, you lunge to the side, shoulder down to push by them.... and then the ball slides to far and another defender scoops it up. It’s finished and unfinished at the same time. 

This is her senior year. This is the College Cup Final. This is the championship. This match is important. 

She’s settling in the midfield, getting a read on the player marking her, getting a feel for the pace and the tempo. 

And then the ball’s in the back of the net. 

Just 3 minutes into the game, and Jess McDonald has put the Tar Heels officially in the lead, 1-0 over the Stanford Cardinals. She’d received a high pass right in the 18, and had made the most of it, chipping it right over the goalkeeper. The team rushes the forward, ecstatic to grab the early lead. Tobin hugs the group, slaps Jess’s back a few times, feels her blood pump up and her grin consume her face. 

“Well, we’re on our way to giving them a win...” Tobin thinks. “Let’s make sure to give them a show too!”

It’s minute after minute of intense soccer. Shoulders on shoulders, tugs on jerseys under arms where the refs can’t see. She can practically feel the fire spilling from Kelley O’Hara’s eyes. She’s seen firsthand in US camps how much this girl needs to win. Tobin knows it’s Kelly’s senior year too, and bringing home the trophy for Stanford for the first time must be the only thing on her mind. But there’s Engen locking down the back line, shutting Kelly down at every turn.

Tobin has fire too. Hers simmers more in movements, her feet touching the ball all the fuel she needs to keep going. 

The Carolina defense holds strong. Stanford can barely get a shot off. They’ve got two star forwards in O’Hara and the other girl, Press. They’ve been racking up an impressive number of goals for a few years now. Heck, they’ve basically put Stanford on the soccer map together! When Tobin committed as a high school junior, she had pictured facing a team like maybe UCLA in a final. O’Hara though, has put that program on her back, shifting some of the weight to Press lately. But so far there’s no joy for either girl tonight. Each time the ball gets to their feet, they’re swarmed by blue. Their connection is off and they’re unable to find any jumpstart for their offense.

Whenever Tobin gets the ball to her feet, she’s slowing down the pace. She can feel the frustration, the desperation building for Stanford to find an equalizer. But she’s enjoying this! It’s a beautiful night. The fans are loud, the talent on the field is awesome. She loves this game.

She sends passes up the wing to her forwards. They keep possession. They send in crosses, take probably 10 decent shots. If the ball turns over, they’ve won it back before the Cardinals can make any progress or connect a string of passes together. The Tar Heels play high pressure. There’s blue on red every second. Their back line in a fortress, stepping as one to keep the Cardinals pushed back so much that Ash could be twiddling her thumbs back there. 

Tobin’s the virtuoso. She takes light touches, she turns and turns back. She’s send the ball this way, then that, through the legs, around. She’s knows Anson’s plan. They keep the pressure. The back line is set. The goals will come. After all, they always do. Tobin’s role? She’s here to share her art with each and every fan. 

There’s a scary moment about 40 minutes in. Press found her way out of the blue swarm and stole some space. How’d she do that? Then she hit a beautiful cross toward her teammate, like that ball had the perfect arch! “Woah” Tobin thinks, as her mouth drops open. But thank goodness the line ref did his job and whipped up his flag, the ref calling it offsides immediately. 

“Whew,” Tobin chuckles to her teammate. “We cannot let her do that again.”  
But the back line holds. The pressuring swarm stays high. The goals will come. 

She loves this game.  
This match is important.

The whistle sounds at 45 minutes, and Tobin knows she’s halfway to hoisting the trophy. This match will be a finished nutmeg.


	3. A step from perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I’m happy with this one.

Everything about this match had felt off so far.

For a team used to dominating on offense, barely being able to connect passes together was downright embarrassing. The freezing air was biting through her jersey, the icy rain lashing her cheeks. She tried to tug her sleeves over her hands more, but her fidgety fingers kept sending them loose. She could probably count on two hands the number of times she’d touched the ball in the first half. She’d not even gotten a shot off, or even gotten the ball deep enough toward the end line to earn a corner. She struggled to find space, and any time she thought she had, the back line stepped. And then the offsides flag went up. It didn’t help that she had to watch a majority of the game from the center line. She watched as their forwards took shots that luckily didn’t go in. She watched as the back line continued coordinating to keep the high pressure and set offsides traps. She watched as their midfielders seemed to dance with the ball, unafraid of turning it over as they instantly won it back. More than once she found herself wishing they could just nutmeg their way to the goal like Carolina did. Or at least Tobin Heath of Carolina did. 

Coach had gone over strategy during halftime. They could not keep turning the ball over so quickly. “Possess,” he’d said. “Orchestrate and finish.” Christen felt like he’s stared directly at her when he’d said that. They had so few shots in the first half. The only time they’d been close they had even been close to scoring, they’d messed it up with offsides. Coach covered that too— “Find the pass, time your runs, use your speed.”

Coach left them in the locker room for the last few minutes, and Kelley had given her own pep talk. Christen found herself tuned out somewhere between “Quit playing scared, don’t let them knock you off the damn ball” and “us seniors have worked hard and we deserve to be sent off as mother-effing champions”. Instead, coach’s words became the mantra in her head as she quickly stretched before the restart.

Possess. Orchestrate. Finish.  
Find the pass, time your runs, use your speed. 

Christen found herself visualizing snippets of success. Kelley shoving a blue jersey off the ball. Taking it down the wing. Head up, Christen will point where she wants it. Kelley sends it long, Christen times her run just rights. She loses her defender, brings the cross down lightly, cuts past the scrambling center back, fires it off her left, curls it in the post, past the keeper’s hand, back of the net, everyone smiling. 

Possess. Orchestrate. Finish.  
Find the pass, time your runs, use your speed.

They’d done it just like that so many times this year. 25 straight wins. One more for the title, one more for the seniors, one more for the legacy. They were this close to perfection, and if there’s something Christen loves, it’s when everything is lined up just so. Perfection. 26-0.

With fresh focus, the second half began. Immediately there was an uptick in energy from the Cardinals. As the midfield took possession of the ball, movement picked up. Passes were linking. Possess.

The play no longer felt rushed as red players looked forward and backward for pockets of space. The ball was sent up the right. When the iron blue wall of defense held, it went back and then up the left. They earned their first corner 6 minutes into the half. The ball bounced around dangerously before finally getting cleared. 

If the ball turned over, red was ready to recover. There was noticeable patience now. Yes, the clock was ticking and they were down, but they were no longer allowing Carolina to set the tempo as they had since the opening goal. The Carolina players were talented of course. They could pass and fought hard to regain possession. They had players who weren’t scared to take on anybody one on one. The Olympian Tobin Heath would take the ball in any direction, she seemed nonchalant at times about trying to get toward even toward the goal. Heck, she looked like she cared more about making a defender look silly as she faked right and watched them dive for the place she’s just been. Of course she wasn’t completely uncaring, though, as she sent in her fair share of crosses and had a few good good shots. After all, you couldn’t be on the national team if you didn’t care about winning. To win you had to score. 

Christen felt her confidence growing as they matched the pressure player for player in those first minutes. She found there could be space if she made a diagonal run between the center backs, moving toward Kelley. She figured the Tar Heels had watched enough tape to know the Press/O’Hara assist and goal fest... the duo had some dynamic crosses. But what they might not expect would be a ball fed right up the middle, splitting that defensive wall. She saw her opportunity, and she took it. Orchestrate. 

10 minutes into the half, the Stanford midfield held the ball, working passes toward the wing as they usually did. This time Christen signaled for it, and the ball came right where she needed it, a quick pass on the ground at the 18 yard box, just off center of the goal. She ran onto it, easily blowing by both defenders. She started toward the endline like she was looking for a cross, and she felt the defensive recovery hold off a bit, weary of the late runs Stanford favored. This time Christen had only one thing on her mind though. Finish.

She hit the ball and felt that pleasant crack of a strong connection. She watched it sail to the near post, right where she placed it. Her heart got that familiar flutter. And at the last second, the goalie punched it away.

Possess. Orchestrate. Finish.  
Finish. Finish. Finish.  
Find the pass, time your runs, use your speed.  
Finish. Finish. Finish. 

Christen tried not to be disappointed. She’d visualized having that goal. The team possessed. They orchestrated. She was supposed to finish. She forced the thoughts back and made a conscious choice to focus instead on the positive. They had two steps of coach’s plan in place. There was plenty of time left. Kelley ran over breathless, “Nice thought, Press. Keep pushing them. Get creative and make the space if you can’t find it.”

Possess. Orchestrate. Finish.  
Find the pass, time your runs, use your speed.

One positive of her close almost-finish, is that it seemed to ignite the team. They barely touched the ball in the first half, but now they were going toe to toe with the Tar Heels each time.

Passes kept connecting. Heads stayed up. They would shift the play this way, than that, poking at the back line. When the ball turned over, this time they were the ones with high pressure, quick to recover. By no means were they dominating the Tar Heels, who were a great team! But they were no longer rolling over and letting Carolina get the best of them. 

In the next 10 minutes, Christen saw Kelley’s hunger growing. As strong of a partnership as the leading goal-scorers had, their soccer philosophies were night and day. Christen looked for space, visualizing the players on the field like pieces on a board, finding the runs that opened up just enough room for her favorite cut back. But Kelley made space, posting up like a power forward to get the ball and room to score with it. On any given day, Kelley played strong, never afraid to lean in a shoulder or go down for a tackle, despite her small stature. With the championship on the line, she seemed to have no concern for the fact that her body was bruisable and breakable. 

Both of their styles had paid off dividends all season. And they both shined in the next ten minutes, as Kelley had bullied her defender off the ball and take a dangerous shot from 20 yards out. It sailed just over the crossbar. Minutes later, Christen weaved her way through several defenders, getting just enough space on a tough angle from distance to blast a shot of her own right over the top.

Possess. Orchestrate. Finish.  
Find the pass, time your runs, use your speed.  
Finish. Finish. Finish.

They were at 70 minutes, just 20 minutes left in the game. The team was following coach’s plan, except for the one part-Finish. Stanford needed a goal. Really, they needed two goals and to keep the Carolina offense shut down. They were so close to the perfect season, the 26-0. This game had been far from perfect, but nobody would even remember when they brought home the championship and ended with 26 straight wins, no ties or losses. 

They were getting shots off this half, they just needed one to go in. Just one. As Christen turned inward, compulsively visualizing runs and passes and shots, Kelley’s quest for a goal turned more physical. Each time she ran onto a ball, she fought harder to evade the high pressure from the defense. She and the blonde center back, Engen, has been battling all game, throwing shoulders and shielding to keep possession.

Christen watched as their outside mid sent a through ball. Kelley and Engen raced to it again. This time as they got close and lowered their shoulders, Kelley’s arm came up. She gave the defender a good shove off the ball, and the blonde toppled over. Christen felt like she heard the whistle before the girl even hit the ground. She turned to the side and she couldn’t believe it. The ref was holding up a yellow card. Toward Kelley. For the second time that game. 

Kelley’s face was the epitome of disbelief, her eyes bugged and her mouth open as he quickly lowered the yellow card and pulled the red from his pocket. She walked toward him, starting to argue, but already Coach was calling from the sideline and their teammates were pushing her off. She looked confused as she made to head toward the bench, but then was redirected toward the locker room to wait out her punishment. 

Christen felt the lump in her throat instantly. She wasn’t the one sent off, but she was certainly close to crying. They were down to just 10 players now, and at 74 minutes on the scoreboard, there were only 16 minutes left to get two goals. Kelley was the leading scorer, the captain and heart of the offense. Christen felt like all of her teammates eyes shifted to her. 

She choked out a few words. “We’ve got this. Like coach said- Possess. Orchestrate. Finish. Let’s go.” Coach was yelling directions from the sideline, shifting players to cover the gap that was supposed to be filled by the scrappy forward who was instead probably punching a hole in the locker room. 

Christen took a deep breath. Then another one. “Possess. Orchestrate. Finish. Find the pass, time your runs, use your speed.” The words sounded less like a mantra, and more like an ominous command now. She couldn’t tell if the drops on her face were just rain or if they were mixing with tears. “Suck it up, Christen. Score a goal. You’re a forward, it’s your job. Score the dang goal,” she demanded.

Play continued and the Tar Heels tried to use this opportunity to extend their lead. They pressed harder through the midfield, their back line high up toward the center of the field. They were trying to cut off all space, and with it all hope of an equalizer. Part of Christen expected her team to fall apart, to start turning the ball over and sending errant passes to the wrong team like they had in the first half. “Kelley would kill us,” she reminded herself. Instead they stayed strong, playing with enough heart to cover for being a man down. They kept possession. They continued passing, looking for offensive openings that were even harder to come by now.

Christen got the ball a few times, but when she looked to pass, her team hadn’t recovered enough to challenge the defensive line with her. She could go one-on-one with a defender, but there was a lot of ground to the goal and she didn’t want to lose the ball and turn the it over at midfield. Not like she can just nutmeg her way in. Be patient, she ordered herself. 

Possess. Orchestrate. Finish.  
Find the pass, time your runs, use your speed.

80 minutes. 

The back line was holding strong. Stanford had gotten another offsides call. They could possess but had yet to break through. She gritted her teeth. 

Possess. Orchestrate. Finish.  
Find the pass, time your runs, use your speed.

85 minutes.

Her lungs were on fire from trying to cover the top of the field mostly on her own, sideline to sideline. Yet still they couldn’t break through that back line. The wet ground meant the ball was slick and moved fast, frequently falling to the defenders or too close to the goalie as her team desperately tried to play her through. 

Possess. Orchestrate. Finish.  
Find the pass, time your runs, use your speed.

87 minutes.  
She looked up at the scoreboard. They were down to 3 minutes. She had to do something. She had to score.

She collected a short pass from the wing, and instead of looking to play it back to the same player, she felt like a fuse had been lit in her.

She turned, taking off for the 18 at a full sprint, pushing the ball ahead of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a red shirt to her left, finally keeping pace to jumpstart an offensive attack. She kicked the ball in that direction, then cut back a bit and made an angled run across the face of the goal. She felt the defender right on her, and stepped inside to try to cut off her play on the ball. She threw her hand up, signaling she wanted the pass back.  
As the ball came straight to her, she touched it with the outside of her foot, peeked at the goal, and drove her leg all the way through the center of the ball. 

She felt it hit the sweet spot of her boot. She watched the perfect spin as the ball launched off. It hurtled through the air and rattled the back of the net.  
Finish. 

She felt her smile stretch across her face as her arms went up. She turned back toward midfield and raced into the arms of her teammates. They were cheering, hugging, jumping. It wasn’t the winning goal, but it gave them a chance. They pulled apart to set up for the kickoff.

And they saw the lineman’s flag up. She felt her heart drop, and immediately looked to the center ref who waved off the goal. The Tar Heels breathed our in audible relief as they set up for the free kick. 

She couldn’t believe it as she watched the ball come back toward midfield. She felt in a daze as the final minutes counted up on the clock. She was staring straight at the time as she watched the final seconds tick away. Her mind supplied the sound of the whistle right before the ref finally blew it to signal the official end to the match.

She felt numb. She stood still, head down and eyes on the grass as all around her players in blue ran to each other, squealing and hugging. After a minute she slowly made her way towards the sidelines, slapping a few hands as she walked. She clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut for a second, reminding herself “later” when her tears threatened to spill over. 

Kelley, on the other hand, was straight up sobbing as she made her way back to the field from the locker room. Her teammates circled up to console her. A few reached out to Christen, patting her back and mumbling wishes of “next year”. The words held empty promise right now, and all Christen could think about was getting to the locker room, enduring the post game talk, avoiding her family, and finally getting to curl up in bed. She grudgingly finished consoling teammates, and turned to start making her lap across the field to high five the winners. 

She shook hand after hand, not even paying attention to whether it was someone she’d already greeted. Each time it was something like “good game” then “yeah you too, congratulations” and a quick step away. She was probably halfway done when she went to slap a hand and startled to mumble out “you too” as she realized the person hadn’t said good game. She lifted her head and made out the white 98 on the jersey just as the words registered in her mind. “You had me scared,” she’d said. 

“Huh?” Christen stammered. 

So Tobin Heath had repeated it, and this time Christen made the words out clearly as she was staring right at Tobin’s gleaming smile. “You had me scared! The way you can get a shot off with, like, an inch of room, it’s insane. Pretty dang impressive, Press.”

“Oh, um thanks. You too, with the nutmegs and stuff,” she stammered.

“Thanks. What a game tonight. I know it’s a tough loss for you guys. You’ve had a really great season! Glad I won’t have to stick around to fight it out with you guys again next year.”

Tough loss? Was she trying to rub it in, Christen wondered. She looked back to Tobin’s smile, and it seemed to be genuine. 

“Hah. Yeah. Good game. Congratulations.” she managed graciously. 

“Thanks.” Tobin started walking away to the next player, and before she thought better of it, Christen found herself calling after her “Oh, congrats on the medal last year too.”

Tobin turned back toward and beamed, giving a slight wave in acknowledgment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully more to come soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Planning to add more some time!


End file.
